;arments of power 



ED 



BV 

450I 

F4S8 




Class 

Book. 

GoipgM13?_ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 



OTHER BOOKS BY FRED B. FISHER 



GIFTS FROM THE DESERT 
THE WAY TO WIN 






Garments of Power 



BY 

FRED Bi^FISHER 




THE ABINGDON PRESS 

NEW YORK CINCINNATI 



BV4SDI 

. F45? 



, Copyright, 19*0, by 
FRED B. FISHER 



APR --5 1920 



©CLA566358 






TO 

ELIJAH WALKER HALFORD 

FRIEND AND COUNSELOR 



This is a pathway for 
mystics. It winds through 
the valleys of human reality 
and over the hills of vision. 
Except spiritual imagina- 
tion accompany thee, enter 
not by this gate. 



"All thy garments smell 
of myrrh, and aloes, and 
cassia, out of the ivory 
palaces, whereby they have 
made thee glad." 

— Psalm 45:8. 

Jesus is alive, and at 
work, for we have seen 
Him. 

Read Lake 24: 34. 



GARMENTS OF POWER 



The Orient is a hemisphere of con- 
trasts. Here wealth reaches its high- 
est height and poverty its deepest 
depth. In close proximity lie the 
palace of a king and the hovel of a 
leper. Nature herself is clothed in 
extremes : torrents of daily rain dur- 
ing the monsoons and furnaces of 
desert heat through the dry seasons. 
Three great luxuries are marble, 
water, and perfume. 

I lived for a while in a city of 

palaces — Agra, India, which being 

interpreted is Ag, "fire/' and Ra, 

"road" — the road of fire. The name 

was given by the ancient Northern 

Army when the long, hot march was 

ended and the encampment built. 

How hot the summer sun beats down 

can be imagined when one knows 
ii 



12 GARMENTS OF POWER 

that the thermometer often registers 
one hundred and twenty degrees in 
the shade. 

One hot season we were compelled 
to remain on the plains, and our only 
hope for comfort during the day was 
to cover the doors and windows with 
thick grass mats. These were mois- 
tened each hour by a native water- 
carrier. His primitive and interest- 
ing method was to squirt the stream 
from the neck of a calf-skin by a deft 
pressure of the elbow. The water- 
bag is simply an inverted skin, swung 
under the arm, with the legs reaching 
up and fastened to a strap across the 
shoulders. This man of blessed serv- 
ice is called the bhisti, "the heavenly 
man/' so deeply do his suffering com- 
patriots appreciate his visits. The 
wet mats cool the dusty desert wind, 
while a fan suspended from the ceil- 
ing and pulled by coolies outside the 



GARMENTS OF POWER 13 

walls, soothes one with gentle breezes. 
Life consists ' of rest by day within 
the thick walls and work in the early 
morning and late evening hours. 



IVORY PALACES 



What wonder that the marble hall 
with running water was the goal of 
the early Eastern kings. Beside the 
Jumna River, centuries ago, Akbar, 
the great, built a massive fort. The 
huge red sandstone walls average a 
height of seventy feet and a width of 
sixty, while the circumference of the 
wide moat approximates two miles. 
Inside are the ancient palaces, built 
by his son and grandson, Jehangir 
and Shah Jehan. The palace walls 
are constructed of white polished 
marble traced with veins of pink 
through which one may easily im- 
agine blood of rose-water flowing. 

Within the fort rests the ivory 
palace of the queens. Here is the liv- 
ing parchesi board, inlaid in the floor 
of the great piazza: blocks of black 
and white marble. In the old days 
17 



18 GARMENTS OF POWER 

beautiful girls of the palace were 
dressed in colored robes of silk, and 
instead of the usual colored disks, the 
girls were moved by the players from 
one square to another as the game 
progressed. Evidence of luxury and 
carefree life surround these ruins of 
glory. 

Screens of marble two inches thick 
and ten feet high, carved in the form 
of fleur de lis, separate the boudoir 
apartments. So delicately artistic is 
the carving, that as one stands within 
the room and looks out through the 
screen upon the stone pavement, the 
rising heat waves touch the scene with 
fancy and the thick marble seems a 
curtain of lace waving in the air. 

The windows are of alabaster, 
sliced delicately thin and painted in 
oil colors with roses and jasmine. 
Through the long years the soft ala- 
baster has absorbed the oils. Hence 



GARMENTS OF POWER 19 

the flowers are hidden except when 
the morning sun shines down against 
the panes. It is worth a trip across 
the world to stand at sunrise and 
watch the growing light paint the 
windows with brilliant clusters of 
roses — red and yellow and pink. 
Through the center of the vast din- 
ing hall, carved in the marble floor, 
runs a shallow decorated canal. No 
water flows there now, but in the old 
days during seasons of heat the 
guests gathered beside the long ivory 
table beneath which their feet were 
laved in a running stream of cool, 
perfumed water. 

How appropriate the poet's de- 
scription, "Out of ivory palaces 
whereby they have made thee glad!" 
What a picture of refreshment! Vi- 
vacious companionship, ennobling 
solitude, cool sleep — all these made 
one strong to withstand the dusty 



20 GARMENTS OF POWER 

heat of the market place and the wel- 
ter of the mob. With a glad counte- 
nance and a masterful tread the king 
went out among men, and they who 
touched his garments were blessed. 



PERFUMED GARMENTS 



Poetic contrast makes the psalmist 
dream of ivory palaces, and it is the 
same touch of contrast that leads him 
to speak of perfumed robes. Imagine 
the densely populated town with its 
unventilated huts, closed courtyards, 
narrow alleys without sewers, smok- 
ing oil, burning corpses, outdoor 
kitchens, scavenger pigs, diseased 
dogs, plague rats and leprous beg- 
gars. It is the poetry of despair. It 
is the piercing minor in the human 
symphony. 

Though you close your eyes that 
you may not see this open sore of 
mankind, yet you cannot escape its 
smell of disease and death. One Occi- 
dental traveler with superficial face- 
tiousness declared he had catalogued 
a hundred different smells of foul- 
23 



24 GARMENTS OF POWER 

ness. Do you wonder, then, that the 
Oriental finds relief in pungent and 
sweet-smelling perfumes ? 

Is it strange that incense is used 
in the temples? How could a god 
bear the stench of unclean humanity ? 

Perfume and incense were the an- 
cient hypocrisies by which the rich 
forgot the festering sores of the com- 
mon human and the priests attracted 
the sensuous attention of their isolated 
gods. And we have kept it up through 
the ages. There are spires reaching 
toward heaven instead of spreading 
out in shelter over men; rich vest- 
ments for priests and gold vessels for 
altars instead of garments for the 
poor and plates for the hungry. No 
wonder the storm-wind howling 
among the arches of the temple made 
the frightened priests hear the hid- 
eous laughter of Satan. 

But selfish as it often was, it is 



GARMENTS OF POWER 25 

nevertheless true that the temple with 
its holy incense was a welcome change 
from the smoky breath of the town, 
while the perfumed garments of 
palace dwellers made men forget the 
dung pile and the wallow. 



'ALL THY GARMENTS SMELL' 



The masculine Occidental would 
never speak of smelling garments. 
He prides himself in his plainness, 
leaving the vanity of perfume to the 
gentler sex. His clothing is not built 
for beauty but for severe utility. 
There is no grace in the close-fitting 
suit of the West. It is so obviously 
made-ap and unnatural that I marvel 
the modern Oriental superficially im- 
itates its fashion even as a ticket of 
admission to western social and com- 
mercial advantages. 

The graceful outer-robe of the East 
has the ease and freedom of nature. 
I love to recall the visits of my old 
teacher, Meer Hadhi, with his em- 
broidered turban and gold-colored 
robe. From the latticed window of 
my study I would watch him as he 
came swinging down the garden 
walk, head lifted, shoulders erect, 
29 



30 GARMENTS OF POWER 

robe riding lightly on the wings of 
the morning breeze. A smile was 
always on his face and victory in his 
stride. Up the piazza steps and into 
the room came his royal gracefulness. 
With a low bow of greeting he would 
gather up the skirts of his robe and 
throw them over his arm before being 
seated. Instinctively I would catch 
my breath as the whole atmosphere 
was filled with pleasing fragrance. 
Have we not here the psalmist's pic- 
ture of a kingly personality walking 
out from the ivory palace into the 
roadway of life, in garments of 
power, scattering everywhere the 
perfume of blessing? 

It is the prophecy of the coming 
Messiah. God, the King, is to send 
forth his Son. No longer is the palace 
of the skies to be his dwelling place. 
No longer will perfume and incense 
be the exclusive right of palace 



GARMENTS OF POWER 31 

dwellers here on earth. The King 
of kings deserts the palace for the 
stable and the fragrance of his pres- 
ence will sweeten the place wherein 
he dwells. He will carry with him 
the royal inheritance and will make 
all men his princely brothers. "With 
gladness and rejoicing shall they be 
brought, and they shall enter into 
the King's palace." He shall walk 
through the market place, into the 
leper's quarters, along the sunless 
alley-ways and into the human hovel. 
Because he "loves righteousness" and 
"hates wickedness" he has been 
anointed with the "oil of gladness 
above his fellows." With the stride 
of triumph he will carry this right- 
eousness into the haunts of men. 

Through the ages this conquering 
Christ has been alive and at work in 
the world. You have seen him, have 
you not? Millions have touched his 



32 GARMENTS OF POWER 

seamless robe and have leaped to their 
feet to run through the streets shout- 
ing, "He is alive, for we have seen 
him." In spite of all the world's 
doubts and the reproach of hu- 
manistic scientists, the living Christ 
marches victoriously onward. How 
else explain the eras of progress ? 

I am in London as I write this para- 
graph, and instinctively call to mind 
that compelling sermon in poetry 
flung from the harp of Richard Le 
Gallienne, and in the midst of the 
after-war crowd I see the Son of God 
in flowing robe walking by the side of 
men. 

"Loud mockers in the roaring street 
Say Christ is crucified again; 
Twice pierced His gospel-bearing feet, 
Twice broken His great heart in vain. 

"I hear and to myself I smile 
For Christ talks with me all the while. 



GARMENTS OF POWER 33 

"Yet while they deem my Lord is dead 
My eyes are on His shining head. 

And "all the while my Lord I meet 
In every London lane and street. 

And "all the while I see them rest, 
The poor and outcast on His breast. ,, 

What power! The blind see. The 
lame leap. Tears turn to laughter. 
It is the fragrance of spring. It is 
Easter morning. 

The oil of gladness is a strange 
and potent mixture. The divine alche- 
mist has placed the spices in the 
crucible and stirred them with his 
own hand. So pungent and perpetual 
is its fragrance that all the ages have 
failed to eradicate it from his gar- 
ments. What power would be ours 
could we but catch and hold its sweet- 
ness. Come into the palace with me 
and let us enter the laboratory and 



34 GARMENTS OF POWER 

the robing room of the King. And 
perchance henceforth our own poor 
garments shall have their rags dipped 
in the everlasting perfume and woven 
into the texture of power. 



"ALL THY GARMENTS SMELL 
OF MYRRH" 



Myrrh in its natural state is a little 
crystal berry about the size of a tear- 
drop. It exudes from the leaves and 
stems of wild Oriental shrubs along 
the streams and in the oases. As a 
pearl is formed by the living oyster 
covering the irritating sand grain 
with saliva to ease the pain of fric- 
tion, so the myrrh drop is formed by 
the plant covering with its sap the 
wounds from piercing insects. It is 
the blood-mixed salve of a wounded 
life. It is a teardrop crystallized. 
Shepherds gather these crystal tears 
by a strange and interesting process. 
The flocks are turned into the bushes 
to graze in the morning and to rest 
by the stream at noontide. At twi- 
light when the fold is reached the 
shepherd's family busy themselves 
with large, coarse, wooden combs — 

37 



38 GARMENTS OF POWER 

dragging the myrrh drops from the 
wool. When the berries are dried 
and crushed their fragrance is as the 
sweetness of pine. 1 

What means this sacred poet when 
he speaks of a garment carrying 
everywhither the smell of myrrh ? I 
think he means hot tears of sympathy. 
' And herein is a wholesome truth. 
He who would be clothed in garments 
of power must have them dipped in 
the tears of a suffering world. 

This age is characterized by the 
intensest suffering on the vastest 
scale ever known in human history. 
He who is not touched with a feeling 
for the infirmities of the stricken mil- 
lions has no message for this hour. 
Every man with a sense of God in 
his soul must lie down to bed every 
riight with an aching heart and arise 

1 See the author's Gifts from the Desert, The 
Abingdon Press, New York. 



GARMENTS OF POWER 39 

each morning with a passionate in- 
tercessory prayer on his lips. 

I have walked through the snow 
and blinding wind over the battle- 
fields at Ypres, Arras, and Chateau- 
Thierry. I have seen the demolished 
homes, and have gazed in awed 
silence on miles of shattered trunks 
of trees. Blackened by hell-fire, they 
stretch their impious and impotent 
hands toward leaden skies. 

I have stood with head bared be- 
side sixteen thousand mute white 
crosses at Hooge Crater. Every 
cross is a witness against a militarized 
civilization. Every mound of earth 
demands the abolition of war and 
pleads for that long-looked-for day 
when the discord of hate shall cease 
and when international good will 
shall have made obsolete the modern 
instruments of carnage. 

In the Belgian towns I have seen 



4 o GARMENTS OF POWER 

old women pushing heavy dog carts 
through the blizzard, no covering for 
their shivering gray heads except the 
falling snow, and no protection for 
their aching feet save cold wooden 
shoes. 

And I have stood by the deserted 
dugout with the stench of blood in 
the air, and have seen within its 
cavern the disemboweled entrails of 
men floating on the dirty water which 
fills the human cess-pool. 

Language cannot paint the scene. 
The glory of war is departed. Chris- 
tian civilization cannot boast itself in 
the costly conquest of gun and shell 
and sword. When I stood in the rain 
and mud at Belleau Wood and saw 
the decaying bodies and rotted clothes 
of two enemies — a German and an 
American — taken out of the same 
hole, locked in death grapple, I saw 
war in its true and terrible light. 



GARMENTS OF POWER 41 

Surrounded by the debris of war — 
the destroyed homes, bankrupt stores, 
hero cemeteries, bones of dead horses, 
broken wagons, shattered artillery, 
rusted tanks, and the fields corru- 
gated with shell holes — I could not 
escape a feeling of sick depression. 
It was as though some company of 
archaeologists, with the aid of giant 
picks and spades, had unearthed the 
remains of Dante's Inferno. The 
wind seemed to sigh his song of sor- 
rows. 

It was no surprise to me that 
thousands had lost their faith in God 
and men alike as they beheld the sad 

results of unrestrained ambition and 

- 

human hatred. My friend standing 
beside me murmured the meditative 
question, "O God, can it be that the 
upward march of men must wind 
across these fields ?" 

We saw afresh the image repro- 



42 GARMENTS OF POWER 

duced by Martha Foote Crow in her 
requiem poem "The Wooden Christ' ' : 

"At the high ridge 
Of a wide war-stricken realm 
There stands an ancient wooden Christ, 
Hollow, the tottering image towers, 
Eyeless and rotten, decrepit there, 
His smile a cruel twist. 

"Within the empty heart of this old Christ 
Small stinging insects build their nests. 
And iron-hearted soldiers cross them- 
selves 
The while they pass 
The hollow-hearted figure by. 

"I think there is no Christ left there 
In all those carnage-loving lands, 
Save only this of hollow wood, 
With wasp nests 
Hiving in its heart. ,, 

It is the task, the opportunity, the 
privilege of the Christian to show 
the world that Jesus is alive and at 
work. We must not permit the 



GARMENTS OF POWER 43 

broken-hearted to think the war 
brought the world to an end. The 
living Christ is able to rebuild the 
world's faith and ideals. His voice 
will call dead nations into life. Your 
task and mine is to link the hopeless 
with His life of hope. 

A stricken and a broken world calls 
forth our tears of sympathy. Whoso 
lets the sacrificing soldier lad carry 
the burden and the glory alone is un- 
worthy the name of man. 

In what garments are you clad, my 
Christian of to-day? As you. walk 
through the blasted fields, as you 
tread the city streets, as you visit the 
marts of trade, do men smell upon 
your garments the fragrance of 
myrrh ? Only so are you a part of 
the present world. If Jesus wept 
over Jerusalem two thousand years 
ago, what must be his depth of an- 
guish now? It is the crucifixion 



44 GARMENTS OF POWER 

afresh. No great heart can behold 
the wounds and resist the flow of 
tears. How tenderly that plaintive 
Roumanian war dirge tells the story 
of the tear-washed garment : 

"O wash my linen, mother mine, 
All my linen, white and fine; 
Rinse it in thy tears and then 
Dry on burning breast again. 

"Send it, mother, to me there 
Where you hear the trumpet's blare. 
Where the banners droop o'erhead, 
For there shall I be lying dead, 
Stricken by the musket's lead, 
Trampled by the charger's tread, 
Seamed with gashes rosy red. 

"Yet, wash my linen, mother mine, 
All my linen, white and fine; 
Rinse it in thy tears and then 
Dry on burning breast again." 

The vicarious quality of the song 
stings our selfish hearts. It is the 
promise of victory in defeat. In an 



GARMENTS OF POWER 45 

age that made that song a living 
reality only a garment fragrant with 
the myrrh drops of comprehending 
sympathy can make any appeal. 
"Man of Sorrows, acquainted with 
grief/' it is Thy robe that we must 
wear to-day. 



"ALL THY GARMENTS SMELL 
OF ALOES" 



Here is an essence of strength. 
The aloes is a tree of glory. It is the 
companion of mountains and the 
home of eagles. It rivals the cedar 
of Lebanon. One of the old prophets, 
in a burst of splendor, declares Israel 
in her power shall be like unto the 
aloes. 

And how is one to get this smell 
of strength upon his clothes? Is he 
to escape from the welter of suffer- 
ing, climb the cool mountainside, and 
lose himself in the shade of balsam 
woods ? Not so. This were but to 
court disappointment. Aloes perfume 
is a costly mixture. The great tree 
does not yield up its substance with- 
out a struggle. Men must come with 
the ax and the saw. The noble giant 
of the hills is hewn down, and 
dragged by mountain mules into the 
valley. Here its trunk is stripped 

49 



50 GARMENTS OF POWER 

bare. A long trench is digged and 
the huge log rolled into its grave. 
The soft, sandy soil of the valley lies 
above it for many years, kissed by dew 
and rain. The Oriental father used 
to take this means to lay up a treasure 
for his son. On a sheep-skin scroll 
he drew the map of the region and 
marked the giant's resting place. 
And one fair day the son would go 
forth with his workmen and dig into 
the earth, when lo! the whole valley 
would be filled with wonderful per- 
fume. 

Life became fragrant in death. The 
aloes never could have swayed the 
whole valley in life the way he now 
controlled it in resurrection. Every 
handful of the powdered wood was 
wealth to the rejoicing youth. 

And all thy garments, my Chris- 
tian of the twentieth century, must 
smell also of aloes. The poet's mysti- 



GARMENTS OF POWER 51 

cal meaning is clear. I affirm he 
speaks the truth. It is in losing your 
life that you shall find its power. 
Sympathy is but the first requisite. 
A tear is powerless except it be fol- 
lowed by sacrificial service. 

In his Will to Believe, William 
James contemplates the vast suffer- 
ing of the human world and, quoting 
a young Amherst philosopher, asks 
a trenchant question: "Does not the 
acceptance of a happy life on such 
terms involve a point of honor ?" 

Response to the wireless signal of 
distress on the high seas is not op- 
tional. The seaman's code of honor 
makes it obligatory. I was recently 
brought face to face with this stern 
fact. Our ship had fought a fierce 
and relentless storm. For five con- 
tinuous days and nights we drove 
straight into the teeth of the gale. 
Our big liner, one of the world's best 



52 GARMENTS OF POWER 

and most famous, should have made 
an average run in excess of four hun- 
dred miles a day. But morning after 
morning our chart fell to two hun- 
dred and then to one hundred. After 
a full week aboard we were only in 
mid- Atlantic. Officers and crew had 
never experienced such continuous 
high seas. Our wireless brought us 
nerve-straining news of ships collid- 
ing in the fog off Newfoundland 
banks. One midnight the north wind 
stirred the flame in the wireless in- 
strument and the call of distress was 
heard. Heedless of our own delay 
and the diminishing coal supply, our 
captain turned out of his course. The 
sea struck our side. Passengers were 
rolled out of their bunks. But the 
dauntless captain steered on to the 
latitude and longitude of need. Then 
suddenly came a flash announcing the 
near approach of another ship and 



GARMENTS OF POWER 53 

later the rescue of all lives. Naught 
but news of safety permitted us to 
again pursue our own straight course. 
Brave Edwin Spencer counted not 
the cost when danger called. The 
steamer Lady Elgin with four hun- 
dred passengers on board left Chi- 
cago in a terrific storm to cross Lake 
Michigan. The boat was wrecked 
on a sand-bar about four miles from 
shore and broke up rapidly. Spencer, 
a frail young student in Northwest- 
ern University, standing on the shore, 
saw the survivors come floating in 
on spars and bits of wreckage. He 
dashed through the breakers to the 
deep water, seized a man and brought 
him back to safety. He made trip 
after trip until ten men had been 
rescued. Then a rope was tied around 
him and once more he went out 
through the waves. A floating spar 
struck his head, and those standing 



54 GARMENTS OF POWER 

on shore seeing that he was bleeding, 
started to pull him back. But the 
lad untied the rope and swam for- 
ward, bringing in another man. And 
on he worked until seventeen persons 
had been saved. That night, while 
his brother and friends cared for him 
and sought to revive his strength, 
Spencer asked again and again the 
question, "Did I do my best?" 
Strength and humility, loyalty and 
honor breathed through this question 
and lived in his heart. His body left 
the fragrance of myrrh and of aloes 
in the waters of the lake and the 
waves carried it to other shores. 

It is a law of human honor that 
men will love the sacrificing hero and 
hate the selfish coward. Up from the 
swamps of Marshfield on the New 
England coast comes a story of the 
rigid enforcement of this law of hu- 
man responsibility in the hour of need. 



GARMENTS OF POWER 55 

A youth of a rich family had built him 
a palatial cottage where duck-shoot- 
ing parties were entertained. Fre- 
quent week-ends he came to the cot- 
tage by the marshes to indulge his 
hunter's instinct. One cold, stormy 
night he heard a woman's cry for 
help. It startled him with its piercing 
echo on the marsh. He thought the* 
fishermen would hear and answer the 
call. He dared not venture out on 
such a night. Next day at the village 
postoffice he asked if the rescue had 
been made, and was surprised to find 
that the fishermen, gathered by the 
open fire, had heard no cry, nor had 
they any news from others. Into a 
store came a distressed mother ask- 
ing if her daughter had been seen. 
She had not returned home the night 
before. A search was made and the 
dead body found on the marshy shore. 
Then came the angry salt-sea 



56 GARMENTS OF POWER 

fishermen to the cottage of the rich 
young man. It was in the days of 
sturdy and primitive manhood. 

"You alone heard the cry and an- 
swered not, nor notified the town," 
they said. 

In disgrace he was driven from 
the town, on foot, without food or 
water or money, and warned never 
to return. The cottage was burned 
to ashes. It was a bitter warning to 
easygoing lives that the rugged sea- 
side folk would not forgive such 
moral neglect and cowardice. Sleep, 
on such terms, involved the point of 
honor. 

We are sickened by spineless lives. 
No modern dare imitate the weak 
celestial being who visited the ancient 
battle field of Troy and seeing the 
fearful wound in the foot of Pa- 
trocles, flew quickly away unable to 
look upon so gruesome a sight. To 



GARMENTS OF POWER 57 

face opportunity and shrink from its 
fulfillment is soul suicide. Ours is 
the chance to be a Florence Nightin- 
gale, a Red Cross nurse, a Salvation 
lassie, a David Livingstone, an Abra- 
ham Lincoln, a Jesus! Was it not 
He who said to his Father, "As thou 
hast sent me into the world so send 
I these into the world" ? He expects 
every Christian to be a Christ-man. 
His eternal question is, "Can you 
drink of the cup from which I 
drank?" This is the test. To drink 
his cup, to bear his cross, to live his 
life! His seamless robe for which 
the crowd cast lots — can I find it and 
wear it becomingly? 

No matter how valuable you may 
think your life — let it be cut down 
like the aloes. It is not the proud, 
living tree that bears the perfume, 
but the yielded life. 

Perchance the valley for you is 



58 GARMENTS OF POWER 

India, where millions lift gaunt 
hands in appeal; or China, where 
ignorance and disease possess the 
towns; or Africa, where superstition 
chains men to devils; or London, or 
Paris, or New York, or Chicago, 
where crowded sordidness and compe- 
tition rob men of conscience and of 
God. Or it may be to train the youth 
in the countryside, or yet again to 
cast in your lot with the workers for 
social and economic reconstruction. 

You must judge. There is some 
heroic challenge to service for every 
life. Somewhere lies your path. 
Arise! Move out. You are a mind 
and a heart, not a helpless tree. It 
should not require a mule team to 
drag your unwilling self into its val- 
ley of opportunity. Choose your way. 
Arise, in all the glory of your moun- 
tain strength, and give your life. 

"Except a corn of wheat fall into 



GARMENTS OF POWER 59 

the ground and die, it abideth alone. 
But if it die, it bringeth forth much 
fruit/' I admit the perfume is costly. 
And its alchemy is strange in that it 
can be made only lot by lot. There 
is no wholesale supply. . It cannot be 
purchased from a merchant. Each 
life must cast itself into, the crucible. 

But the garment of power must 
possess it, and once the world has 
caught that fragrance there is no mis- 
taking it. Happy he whose garments 
smell of myrrh — -twice happy he who 
bears about with him the touch of 
aloes. All the gates of service swing 
open to him, while the valleys of suf- 
fering men feel his presence and are 
glad. 



ROBES OF LIVING SACRIFICE 






It was the man Paul, trail-maker 
of his times, who challenged the Ro- 
mans in their Caesared strength. Like 
the mountain aloes they towered 
above their fellows. Yet up from the 
valley of need this fellow citizen of 
theirs cried out: "I beseech you, 
therefore, brethren, by the mercies of 
God, that ye present your bodies a 
living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto 
God, which is your reasonable serv- 



ice. 



A potent parable of this challenge 
was enacted nearly three hundred 
years ago in sun-swept India. Down 
through the years has come a legend 
of beauty telling of the founding of 
the sect called Sikhs. Priest Nanak 
was a devotee of truth. His was a 
synthetic mind. He longed to bind 
together the beauty that was in Budd- 
63 



64 GARMENTS OF POWER 

hism, the strength in Islam, the uni- 
versal in Hinduism, with the truth 
and power of Christianity. Long 
years he moved up and down the 
Punjab preaching and teaching his 
faith. Little by little his followers 
multiplied until they numbered thou- 
sands. He called a great convocation 
of all believers at a place known as 
the Five Sacred Hills. The hillsides 
formed a natural amphitheater inclos- 
ing a beautiful green valley. Against 
the green turf Nanak had pitched a 
white canvas tent. At the appointed 
hour he came forth from his tent and 
the clamor of voices ceased. In silent 
awe five thousand hearts awaited the 
words of inspiration and command. 
Long and eloquent was the message. 
Under its power hundreds swooned 
and fainted. The penalty of broken 
law and the glory of obedience flamed 
forth in letters of fire. 



GARMENTS OF POWER 65 

Suddenly the voice stopped, the 
white-robed figure stood silently 
erect, a heavy sword lifted above 
his head. Then quietly spoke the 
prophet: "I am told the Christians 
spread their faith by martyrdom and 
sacrifice. In Rome they have been 
crucified head downward. Their liv- 
ing bodies have been fed to lions, and 
young maidens have been burned at 
the stake. But the more they suffer 
the greater they grow. It is the 
secret of power. Henceforth we shall 
travel the road of living sacrifice. It 
is the only road to victory. 

"I shall here await the self-offer- 
ing of five brave men. I beseech you, 
brethren, to present your bodies as a 
willing offering for our faith. The 
five must be stalwart men, fathers, 
and prosperous. Men whose going 
will leave suffering behind them, 
whose loss will be heavy both to them- 



66 GARMENTS OF POWER 

selves and to those that hold them 
dear. Not careless and reckless 
youth, nor decaying age. Life at its 
best I demand. Five brave men, no 
more, no less. Who will be the first 
to walk with me into yonder tent of 
sacrifice ?" 

And as the quivering saint waited, 
the Prince, heir to the throne, arose 
and slowly came down the hillside. 
Without a murmur of surprise Nanak 
led him to the waiting tent. 

Then forth came the prophet, wav- 
ing his priestly sword, from which 
red drops of blood stained the tent- 
flap and his robe. He had not long 
to wait until a second giant walked 
with him to the tent of slaughter. 
And yet again, a third, a fourth and 
at last the fifth. One by one this five- 
fold human offering was recruited 
unto death. 

A long pause, while the sun 



GARMENTS OF POWER 67 

seemed to suffer an eclipse, then with 
a shout of victory Nanak leaped 
through the tent-door, waving the 
blood-red sword and giving com- 
mand. A hundred Oriental drums 
began to beat. The tent was jerked 
from its fastenings — and lo! — there 
stood the five brave men alive and 
unharmed. They were clad in robes 
of white, arms folded, eyes turned 
toward heaven. At the feet of each 
lay a sacrificial lamb — each time a 
lamb had been slain for the man. 

It was then that Nanak placed 
himself at the head of the line and 
at his command the five disciples 
turned without a word of farewell 
and walked out through the gulley 
between the hills into the valleys of 
men. They were to scatter among 
the towns the message of the Sikhs, 
ordained as living sacrifices. Is it 
strange that after these years there 



68 GARMENTS OF POWER 

are several million followers of Nanak 
and his band? 

What care I whether fact or fancy 
gave birth to this legend of theirs. 
It symbolizes the way to power. 



'ALL THY GARMENTS SMELL 
OF CASSIA" 



From time immemorial the ever- 
green sprig of cassia has been the 
emblem of everlasting life. Wrapped 
in the shrouds, dropped in the graves, 
hung above the tomb's entrance, al- 
ways the promise of immortality. "If 
a man die, he shall live again." 

Here is optimism and faith irre- 
pressible. It is the challenge to hope. 
It is Christianity's big message in all 
dark hours. Paul laid down the 
philosophical basis of Christian op- 
timism: "In God we live and move 
and have our being." And Tenny- 
son caught the faith and reexpressed 
it in living words : 

"That God, which ever lives and loves, 
One God, one law, one element, 
And one far-off divine event 
To which the whole creation moves." 

7i 



>]2 GARMENTS OF POWER 

It is God's world. He made it and 
sustains it for some grand end. He 
is present in human activities and 
ideals, always working out that pur- 
pose where men will let Him. Men 
may war and retard, but may not 
destroy. Their real task and privi- 
lege is to find His will and cooperate 
in its fulfillment. 

A long look into history's past and 
a prophetic look into future years 
guarantee vision, poise and power in 
the midst of superficial frenzy and 
alarm. The fragrance of cassia is 
the Gospel of confident hope. 

In this truth the Christian stands 
erect. Head lifted, chest out, eyes 
forward — he marches toward an in- 
finite goal. He is a citizen of two 
worlds — serving in this, living in the 
next. Power, twice born. 

And once again the picture of my 
Oriental teacher comes to mind. He 



GARMENTS OF POWER 73 

is a living illustration of David's 
vision. Robe gently flowing, step 
firm and forward, illumined face and 
fire-lit eyes. 

So Jesus walks and his disciples 
follow, into the market place, along 
the alley way, across the stricken bat- 
tle fields, into mine and mill, through 
the countryside, scattering every- 
whither the fragrance and the power 
of myrrh and aloes and cassia, Chris- 
tian sympathy, Christly sacrifice and 
service, victorious faith in God and 
men. 

Whoso follows in his train joins 
the march of human progress toward 
the. goal of a new heaven and a new 
earth. In "Rugby Chapel," Matthew 
Arnold sings the story of the advanc- 
ing host : 

"Servants of God! — or sons 
Shall I not call you? because 
Not as servants ye knew 



74 GARMENTS OF POWER 

Your Father's innermost mind, 
His, who unwillingly sees 
One of his little ones lost — 
Yours is the praise, if mankind 
Hath not as yet in its march 
Fainted and fallen and died! 

"See ! In the rocks of the world 
Marches the host of mankind, 
A feeble, wavering line. 
Where are they tending? — A God 
Marshal'd them, gave them their goal. 
Ah, but the way is so long! 
Years they have been in the wild ! 
Sore thirst plagues them, the rocks, 
Rising all around, overawe ! 
Factions divide them, their host 
Threatens to break, to dissolve. 
— Ah, keep, keep them combined ! 
Else, of the myriads who fill 
That army, not one shall arrive ; 
Sole they shall stray ; in the rocks 
Stagger for ever in vain, 
Die one by one in the waste. 

"Then, in such hour of need 
Of your fainting, dispirited race. 



GARMENTS OF POWER 75 

Ye, like angels, appear, 
Radiant with ardor divine! 
Beacons of hope, ye appear ! 
Languor is not in your heart, 
Weakness is not in your word, 
Weariness not on your brow. 
Ye alight in our van ! at your voice, 
Panic, despair, flee away. 
Ye move through the ranks, recall 
The stragglers, refresh the outworn, 
Praise, re-inspire the brave ! 
Order, courage, return. 
Eyes rekindling, and prayers, 
Follow your steps as ye go. 
Ye fill up the gaps in our files, 
Strengthen the wavering line, 
Stablish, continue our march, 
On, to the bound of the waste, 
On, to the city of God/' 

This march of power is open to 
voluntary enlistments. Every Chris- 
tian may join its ranks. It is a 
twentieth-century challenge. 

Come then! Take thy poor gar- 
ments to the ivory palace, dip them 



76 GARMENTS OF POWER 

into the pool of sacrificial renuncia- 
tion, rinse them in the tears of under- 
standing sympathy, walk through 
the olive garden with the Son of God 
— rand out from his presence all thy 
garments shall smell of myrrh, and 
aloes, and cassia. 







Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: Oct. 2005 

PreservationTechnologieS 

A WORLD LEADER IN PAPER PRESERVATIOf 
1 1 1 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
(724)779-2111 



